


Another Month Gone

by dearxalchemist



Series: Scratching the Surface [1]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Child Loss, F/M, Feelings, Mild Hurt/Comfort, reunited, romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-18 11:46:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8161030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dearxalchemist/pseuds/dearxalchemist
Summary: The bed looks warm and inviting, but he’s more concerned about how empty it looks against the elegant decor of the room. He turns on his heel and catches the light from the bathroom. He can’t wait any longer, he’s drawn to the light like a moth, desperate to get a glimpse of her before exhaustion renders him down. Riza is leaning over the bathroom counter with her hair down, curling over her shoulders, blocking out the logo on his old t-shirt. She’s wearing his academy shirt, the one that’s faded from too many years of cheap detergent. She is stunning, even in the poor lighting; she is the only thing worth looking at.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [neckwear](https://archiveofourown.org/users/neckwear/gifts).



He parks his car in the darkened driveway. Usually there’s a light on with someone waiting for him; but all he’s greeted with is darkness. His fingers grip the steering wheel tight as his gaze stays on the large dark house. After a moment he finally moves and pulls his hands free from the wheel, scratching at the five o’clock shadow that’s prominent across his jawline. 

He can’t complain. 

He’s early and late all at once. 

The watch hanging on his pocket ticks close to midnight and his month away in Table City has been cut short. He’s come home early in hopes of seeing the light on, in hopes of her waiting for him by the stairs -- but there’s nothing but darkness. Exhaustion creeps into his bones and he pulls his gloves off and tucks them down into his pocket before slipping out of the car. His boots scuff the ground and he takes heavy steps towards the home, letting himself inside. 

Hayate’s old head tilts up from the dog bed in the corner of the living room, but after a minute or so he lays his head back down and Roy shucks his coat, bending down to the dog’s head, scratching behind his ear gently. He scratches until Hayate’s back leg twitches and he licks at Roy’s wrist. The old dog hardly moves around anymore, but he still stands guard of their home. 

Roy doesn’t bother turning on any lights. There’s enough moonlight slipping through the windows to illuminate the large mansion and even then he knows the layout by heart. He draws himself further along the house, passing through the open kitchen. There’s an empty wine glass on the counter and guilt sinks low in his stomach as he moves throughout the rest of the house. The Fuhrer drags himself up the steps, fingers drawing up the railing passing the empty nursery. 

If the wine tells him anything, it’s that the nursery will remain empty for another month. 

The guilt only builds from there as he moves down the hallway to the master bedroom. He gently nudges the door open and spies the empty bed first, confusion crosses his brow as he steps further into the room, hand moving to his throat to undo the tie that suddenly feels too tight around his throat. His clothes feel heavy and his fingers twitch against his collar. The bed looks warm and inviting, but he’s more concerned about how empty it looks against the elegant decor of the room. He turns on his heel and catches the light from the bathroom. He can’t wait any longer, he’s drawn to the light like a moth, desperate to get a glimpse of her before exhaustion renders him down. 

Riza is leaning over the bathroom counter with her hair down, curling over her shoulders, blocking out the logo on his old t-shirt. She’s wearing his academy shirt, the one that’s faded from too many years of cheap detergent. Her fingers scrub over her cheeks and dip back down into the sink where she washes away the rest of the day and he can’t help himself. He pushes the door open a little further and slips inside. He keeps his footsteps light and eases behind her. If this were any other time, she would have a gun on him. She would have his back to the wall, hand under his throat and a gun to his jaw. 

Roy moves behind her, his chest brushing against her back. The air between them sparks and the guilt from before eases away as she smiles. Her muscles tense and then she slowly loosens, sinking back into the warmth of his chest as his hands stroke down over her forearms. He draws his hands down over her own, his palms pressing over her knuckles as he drops his head to her shoulder. 

“You’re early.” Her voice is soft and strained, she’s exhausted and when she tilts her head back, he draws his lips to the exposed column of her throat. It’s there he leaves a chaste kiss. 

He exhales there against her skin and closes his eyes, folding himself into her as his fingers lace between hers. Roy takes another step forward and presses her hips into the line of the counter, holding her there, trapped between the vanity and his body. Drawing his lips back he presses a kiss into her cheek, “I wanted to surprise you.”

His scruff scratches her cheek and he knows in the morning she’ll make him shave. Roy dares a glance in the bathroom mirror and she’s watching him carefully. Brown eyes catching his and she investigates his hands on hers, “I don’t like surprises.” 

“I know, it’s why I did it,” Roy dares a laugh against her cheek, soft and loving. He kisses her temple, drawing his lips against her hairline as he moves one hand up and lets his fingers draw through her golden locks. A soft hum leaves her lips and she draws in closer to him, practically leaning all of her weight into his tired body.

“How much longer?” She asks, eyes fluttering shut against his actions. Riza’s hands turn under his and she presses her palms up against his. Then draws her calloused fingers over his own. He sighs and presses a kiss to her crown.

“A few more months until we can finish the rest of these treaties.” Roy murmurs softly his hand dropping from her hair down over her hip. He draws his hand over the loose fabric of his old shirt and presses his palm over the front of her belly where he feels her muscles tense up all over again. She draws her free hand down and grasps onto his own hand, drawing it away, pressing it to her hip tightly. Riza squeezes his fingers so tight it’s a miracle none of the bones break.

“We’re not…” 

“I know,” He answers her, thumb stroking over her hip with small soothing circles. She’s been working on that nursery for weeks all while he traveled endlessly into rough territories, “It will happen.” 

He feels her take the shuddering breath and she lets go of his hands, turning in his hold to wrap her arms around him. The first sob catches in his chest as she buries herself there, head down and hands grasping at the small of his back. She pulls at his dress shirt almost threatening to shred the fabric as the next sob comes. 

Her shoulders shake and her knees knock together. 

“When?” She asks and her voice breaks as she asks him over and over, “When, when, when?”

He’s never seen his lieutenant -- his _wife_ , so undone. 

He doesn’t have an answer for her. 

She’s unraveling in his hands, her and the rest of the country.

He expected relief when he took on the role of Fuhrer, but now all he feels is the weight of the world. He has taken on the role of Atlas and it’s exhausting him. He can barely keep pace with the world and his life at home. Roy keeps his arms around her, drawing her in until there’s no space between them. He draws his hands down her back, palms down over the back of his shirt, drawing it up just enough to slip underneath the fabric. Roy’s calloused fingers draw over the lip of her modest panties and then up over the shape of her hips. He presses his palm into the small of her back and draws little patterns over the skin. 

Her sobs become silent, but her shoulders still shake as she murmurs something of divine retribution, this is punishment for taking so many lives in Ishval.

“No, no that’s not true.” He tells her over and over. For months they’ve been trying to adjust to a normal life outside of the military confines, but nothing seems to go right. “Come on,” He whispers close to her ear. She sniffles and he presses another kiss to the top of her head, drawing her towards the bedroom. Riza snags the bathroom light switch on their way out, plunging them into darkness. She buries her nose in the crook of his neck, inhaling the scent of worn leather and smoke. 

They wind up on top of the covers. 

Their kisses are delicate, he draws his lips over her closed eyes and down to the tip of her nose. 

Her legs tangle with his.

He toes off his shoes and she helps him kick them off the bed.

Riza goes for his belt but he grabs onto her calloused hands, ceasing her movements. She’s freshly retired from the military, still adjusting to home life -- still adjusting to a world where she stands next to him, no longer a step behind him. Roy draws his thumb over the simple band on her left hand and then pulls it up to his lips. He kisses her left hand and gently pulls her down where he wraps his arms around her shoulders. He squeezes her to him, holds her close and waits for her to settle. She tangles herself against him, her knees sinking between his own, soaking in the warmth of him. 

“I have to leave again, tomorrow evening.” He murmurs softly, a yawn pulling at his lips as she stretches over his form, pressing her cheek over his chest. She listens to his steady heartbeat, lashes still wet with tears as she closes her eyes.  
“Take me with you.”

It’s not a request. 

“Always.”

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to my lovely Em, who asked for Roy coming home -- and an intimate moment between them.


End file.
